Primary
by detective-sweetheart
Summary: The first rule of Homicide: You answer the phone, the case is yours, no questions asked.


A/N: Ok, so...yeah. Started thinking about Charm Bracelets again the other day, and decided that maybe a one-shot kind of explaining how Munch ended up with that in the first place might help out a little, so there you have it. And H:LOTS still isn't mine.

* * *

It is, or so your partner tells you, an ordinary, run of the mill call. Someone on the other end of Baltimore found a body, so now it's up to the two of you to drag yourselves from the squad room, to the scene of the crime, and then to find out who, what, where, when and why. It's amusing, in a twisted sort of way, or so you think, that you're answering the same sorts of questions journalists do. But there's a big difference. They report to an editor and cover the city's latest news. You report to a shift lieutenant and cover the city's latest murders. The fact that you're Homicide's newest member doesn't exactly help.

Your partner has been telling you stories all day. You've tried to ignore him, but it hasn't been working. And now that you're out of the squad room, you're hoping that he'll manage to keep his mouth shut, because suddenly, you're not feeling all too well, and you're not sure whether or not it's just nerves. You're hoping it is. Especially because you're the one who answered the phone in the first place. Last thing you want is to get sick at this first crime scene. You want to prove that you're worthy of the silver detective's shield you're now wearing on your coat, and your partner's not making it any easier.

He says something to you while you make your way across city streets illuminated only by the faint orange glow from the streetlights. Something about his last partner. How he's supposedly better than you or something. This time, you find him easy to ignore. He doesn't know anything about you…at least, not yet, so there's no way he can form a proper opinion. He persists, however, despite the fact that he knows damn well you're ignoring him, so you continue to stare out the windshield as he drives, intent on focusing on the rain. For some reason, you're starting to feel as if you're a cop in one of those old movies, the ones that go around wearing a trenchcoat and fedora, and you have to bite your lip to keep from laughing, because it's exactly what your partner's wearing.

When you finally get to the crime scene, you get out of the car, wanting to go forward and get this all over with, but your partner grabs your arm before you can. There are certain rules, he says, to being a Homicide detective, and he has, for some reason, taken it upon himself to let you know what they are. This time, you listen. Another one of those last things you want is to do anything that'll irritate the shift lieutenant, because among the stories you've heard all day are those of what happens when the lieutenant gets annoyed. Finally, though, your partner finishes, and you walk forward. Uniforms stand around the bright yellow crime scene tape, some of them rookies and some of them not, all of them trying to look as if it doesn't affect them. But you were one of them only a few weeks ago, so you know better. It might not look like it affects them now, but you will later on.

They see the shields on your coat and on your partner's and they move to grant you passage. You cross the tape without looking back, almost wishing that you hadn't come this far in your career, but as soon as the thought comes, it goes away. You'd like to think that you can handle this, but now you're not so sure. Your partner's watching you, though, and you don't want to give him any more reason to start talking about his former partner, so you continue moving forward. There are two bodies on the ground, covered by sheets. You can tell by the outline that they're too small to be adults, and you bite your lip again, hard, and the metallic taste of blood meets your tongue. You wonder how long it's going to take you to get sick. And then you close your eyes, take a breath and exhale loudly, determined not to let that happen.

The medical examiner says that your two new victims are eight and five. From what she can tell, they're not related, but they were both killed around the same time. There's no blood on the sidewalks, you notice. They weren't killed here. You wonder how long their murderer had them before leaving them here, and the thought disgusts you, so you push it away. Your partner continues to watch you. Against your better judgment, you ask the M.E. to let you see the bodies. She eyes you for a moment, and then your partner, and you're surprised to see him nod out of the corner of your eye. The M.E sighs and pulls the first sheet down. This first victim's face is bruised. For a minute you're seeing red, but you know better than to let your anger overtake you, so you look at the body more closely. There's a small silver charm on her lips. You ask the CSU techs if it was there when the body was found; they nod. The medical examiner lowers the sheet on the second body and you see the same thing. She tells you that they couldn't get the charms off.

Your partner motions for you to come with him at this point, and you cross the crime scene tape again. Shadows fall across your faces, and you're glad, for once, that you were glasses, because your partner is unable to see how upset you really are. He tells you that the charms more than likely mean that you've got a serial killer on your hands. It's not what you wanted to hear, but there's nothing you can do about it.

After all…you were the one who answered the phone. And as it goes in Homicide, if you answer the phone, you're the primary, the lead detective whose shoulders everything will fall on if anything happens to go wrong.


End file.
